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It's A Payment	By : meandyou Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 1072 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft. All characters and places mentioned in this story are the property of Blizzard. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-It's A Payment
- 1
It’s the type of pain you never want to feel. It burns you right through, piercing your flesh all the way to your very soul. He broke my heart into a million pieces... and never even stopped to take a look at the carnage he’d caused. He didn’t even care.

In fact, I don’t think he ever did.

~~~

Kil’jaeden was in one of his moods. He stomped about, maddened, his thoughts turning to that which tormented him. He paced around the room like a wild animal in a cage, fuming and cursing Velen as he always did. One of these centuries... he would track him down. One day. But the fact that the traitor had evaded the Legion once more drove Kil’jaeden to the deepest extents of frustration. The crimson skinned Eredar stopped in the middle of the room, his mind travelling at unimaginable speeds, ticking over in his immense fury.

“Velen,” he whispered, trembling with rage, “Just wait until the day we see each other again. Just wait for it, Velen,” a malevolent smirk crossed his features. “You think you’re superior to us... that you can outrun us... how I long for the day I can wrap my hands around your throat... and see the life fade out of your eyes.” He laughed softly, thinking of Velen’s terrified face as Kil’jaeden imagined himself sitting on his chest slowly strangling him, squeezing the air out of his lungs, bruising his neck and watching his face change colour. He licked his lips slowly. “That would be the only comfort I’d give you, after all the other things I would do to you first.” He laughed again, and covered his face with his hands as he did. He paused, Velen’s face burned firmly in his mind. As much as he’d tried, he was unable to remove the image he had of Velen when they had ruled together, when they were friends. How perverse it was, that his love for Velen had turned into this infinite hatred.

Still covering his face in his hands, buried in the images his mind held of Velen, Kil’jaeden suddenly sank to his knees, shifting abruptly, wrenchingly, from rage to utter despair.

“Velen,” he spat, as though eager to dispel the bitter taste of the name from his tongue. “How could you do this to me,”

Unable to stop it, his body heaved with a massive, impotent sob, tears of hot frustration stinging his eyes. Still perched on his knees awkwardly, he grasped himself, his claws digging into his crimson flesh. He shuddered as he let out another badly stifled sob. His desire was immense. The desire he had for Velen’s head on a plate. The desire he had to force the Velen to watch as Kil’jaeden carved his chest open and ripped out his stupid, foolish still beating heart, baring it before its owner. The desire he had to imprison Velen’s soul just as he’d sought to do by deciding to abandon him. He longed to slowly, slowly torture him, and show him no mercy. Did Velen honestly think he would be able to escape? No matter how hard he could try to run... no matter how much he tried to strive for this pathetic idea of a life he sought to create for himself and these exiled people, these “draenei”... he would never be able to escape. This would be his true fate, in the end...

“Velen,” Kil’jaeden said as he raised his hands to his face once more, startling himself with the wetness he felt there, and clawed at his cheeks in frustration. “Your treachery to Lord Sargeras... your treachery to me... will never be forgotten...”

“Are you still crying over Velen, Kil’jaeden?”

Kil’jaeden looked up, startled. He had not sensed the presence of the other, so caught up was he in his own thoughts. He growled as he rubbed his wrists across his face, wiping the rogue tears away hastily.

“Archimonde,” he hissed, not liking to display his feelings to his comrade, though he knew Archimonde felt similarly when it came to Velen, at least the part about desiring his severed head. “Leave me be, I’m in no mood for the likes of you.”

Archimonde gazed at him calmly, ignoring Kil’jaeden’s request.

“Velen can be dealt with in due time. Why do you continue to torment yourself this way?”

Kil’jaeden glared at him.

“I torment myself,” he said irritably, “Because Lord Sargeras desired the service of all three leaders of the Eredar! This you know perfectly well. Velen is the ultimate traitor to our Lord.”

Even as he spoke the words to Archimonde, Kil’jaeden knew that wasn’t entirely the reason why Velen continued to drive him to irrational thoughts.

“Our Lord still desires those exiled and their treacherous leader,” Archimonde reasoned calmly, “But he also desires other races known to be closer in proximity. Should we not endeavour to consolidate our efforts in taking for him those powerful races in our midst?”

Archimonde approached the still kneeling Kil’jaeden.

Kil’jaeden continued to glower at him. Archimonde would never understand. While he was a being of immense strength and a powerful lieutenant of their Lord, as well as having been one of the three leading the once noble, benevolent Eredar, he couldn’t possibly begin to understand what the quick capture of Velen would mean to Kil’jaeden. How could he? He was never as close to him as Kil’jaeden was, had no bearing on the relationship the two shared. Kil’jaeden regarded Archimonde sardonically as this occurred to him. It was pathetic, even slightly comical, of Archimonde to begin to think he could talk to Kil’jaeden about Velen.

“Leave me be, Archimonde,” Kil’jaeden repeated, “I’ve no patience for you this evening.”

Archimonde didn’t move. He stood right before the red Eredar, the lilac hue of his skin a stark contrast to that of Kil’jaeden’s. He stared down at Kil’jaeden still crouching on the floor. Archimonde smiled at him in what appeared to Kil’jaeden as a condescending smirk. Archimonde suddenly extended his hand to Kil’jaeden.

“Come,” he said, in a peculiarly soft tone. “Let me help you.”

Kil’jaeden scowled at him, unmoving. Archimonde let his hand stay there, waiting for Kil’jaeden to take it. When he didn’t relent and allow himself to be pulled to his cloven feet, Archimonde reached for Kil’jaeden’s hand himself.

“Come, don’t be foolish.”

Kil’jaeden felt a surge of anger course through him, always lying just beneath the surface when around Archimonde for he reminded him so much of the hated Velen.

Kil’jaeden roughly pushed the hand away as it reached for him.

Archimonde retracted his hand, but did not otherwise appear fazed. Instead he laughed, further infuriating Kil’jaeden.

“You are like a little child,” the same hand boldly moved down to Kil’jaeden’s cheek and cupped it. “Always have been.”

Kil’jaeden smacked the hand away, anger spiking through him once more.

“How dare you,” he exclaimed, “How dare you set foot in my domain and attempt to persuade me to your irresponsible will! The will of Lord Sargeras is to capture him as soon as can be done and you know it! He wanted all three of us!”

Kil’jaeden’s skin darkened as his rage grew. Moronic Archimonde, his gift had been potent, immense physical strength, but his mind was weak and stupid. How he wished for him to have never been installed in his position, how he wished it could have been Archimonde who had sought to abandon him, rather than Velen. His best friend, and now his hated enemy... it was an unbelievably cruel joke played by the hand of fate; that he should have his lot thrown together with Archimonde, when it could easily have been the other way around. Velen could have been his comrade and together he and Kil’jaeden could have relentlessly pursued Archimonde across the universe, seeking his head...

With this thought at the top of his mind, his anger and frustration culminated. He got to his feet hastily and stood at his full height, looming before Archimonde. He expected the blue Eredar to leave him at this point, but he didn’t. Archimonde continued to stand there, calmly looking back at his ally. Anger blistered through Kil’jaeden as he gazed into Archimonde’s calm expression. Calm, and condescending. How dare he!

Kil’jaeden drew back his great arms and shoved Archimonde roughly.

“Get out, Archimonde!”

Archimonde... a bitterly pale substitute for what could have been...

Despite his fury, Kil’jaeden felt the tears prick his eyes as he thought once more of Velen. How hard he strived to keep them from falling. He concentrated all his efforts to keep this shameful, pathetic weakness from manifesting. His rage burned through him, and fell down his face.

He flailed blindly at Archimonde, trying to push him out of the room.

“Get out of here, I don’t want you in here, I don’t want to see you,”

He was so furious at the cheek of Archimonde, the sheer gall. He told him to leave, why wouldn’t he just go, he wasn’t wanted here... no more now than he was back when he, Kil’jaeden and Velen were leading the Eredar... Kil’jaeden and Velen, always hoping to have the slightest semblance of privacy from Archimonde...

As much as he tried to evade it, Kil’jaeden felt Archimonde’s own strong arms grip him, despite Kil’jaeden’s efforts to push him away. Kil’jaeden stopped flailing his arms and pushed his large clawed hands against Archimonde’s massive blue chest. The damned bastard! What could he possibly be playing at? He wondered this as Archimonde encircled Kil’jaeden’s form in his arms. Kil’jaeden put his hands between them, leaving a gap between them.

“Let go of me!” Kil’jaeden snarled, his anger at his situation threatening to overwhelm him in that moment. Archimonde closed his arms around Kil’jaeden even more. Kil’jaeden felt his face darken intensely, his racing mind barely processing what was happening.

“Let me go, Archimonde,” he tried again. To his mortification he felt himself being drawn completely against Archimonde’s impressive, muscular chest, his hands still placed upon it, feeling the warmth beneath it, the intenseness of it momentarily disarming Kil’jaeden. The huge, broad chest of Archimonde... his proud, handsome Eredar form all too close to Kil’jaeden, it mirrored his own body but he’d not been in such close proximity with one as in this moment, not for a long, long time. Suddenly, unwelcomely, Velen’s face flashed across the focal point of his mind. He was not prepared for it and it burned into him painfully. Kil’jaeden squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to dispel the face of his former best friend. Archimonde’s body was so close, his warmth seeping into his skin, and the texture of his skin reminded him of Velen. As the thought struck him Kil’jaeden struggled again but the grip of Archimonde upon him was strong.

“Let go of me,” he said again, becoming more embarrassed with every second that passed. “I mean it! Archimonde... let go of me, please...” He couldn’t get Velen’s face out of his mind, and not the image he held to spur him on in times of anger, times he required his brutal, merciless strength. Not the image he held of Velen, the bastard traitor to his great Lord Sargeras, of pathetic, weak Velen, who cowardly abandoned the promise of wonderful things, who abandoned him... but the image he held of his friend, who he missed dearly, and whose image he sought desperately to vanquish from his mind...

“Archimonde,” Kil’jaeden said, his voice becoming unusually soft. Velen’s face was still so vivid, when Kil’jaeden was not prepared the sweet sound of his voice would come rushing back, and with it the memories, the painful memories he wished would leave him forever. He only had hate for Velen now, this he tried desperately to convince himself. Most of the time, he managed to believe it. But sometimes...

Kil’jaeden tried again to dislodge himself from the strong embrace of Archimonde. He felt desperately overpowered as the memories assaulted him.

“Please... please...”

The tears squeezed out of his eyes. He felt the shame welling up inside him along with them. They ran all but hissing down his hot cheeks. As Kil’jaeden became aware of them he tried to release himself from Archimonde’s grasp once more. He quickly wiped his eyes before new tears formed. As he leaned back he glanced at Archimonde. He still bore an expression of calmness, but there was another emotion apparent on his face. It looked like concern. It couldn’t be. Even if it was, KIl’jaeden didn’t want it! He was mocking him... Kil’jaeden glared at him again.

“You need to stop this,” Archimonde said.

Kil’jaeden frowned deeply.

“Stop what? That which our master requires?”

“It has nothing to do with Lord Sargeras,” he said quietly, “That is, the reason that you continue to be obsessed with hunting Velen,”

The mention of the name stung Kil’jaeden. He shifted uncomfortably.

“I know this to be true,” Archimonde drew closer to Kil’jaeden once again, “I know it is because you desired him as a man,”

Kil’jaeden’s anger spiked again. He jerked his arm back and slapped Archimonde across the face, hard.

This was so unexpected it actually did shock Archimonde. The blue skinned Eredar had a look of surprise as he instinctively clasped his hand to his smarting cheek.

Kil’jaeden quivered with rage.

“You dare to speak to me about him!” he yelled, “You dare to draw your petty conclusions?!”

He shoved Archimonde again, harder than the first time, causing him to step backward slightly.

Finally, an angered look crossed Archimonde’s face.

“You are an idiot, Kil’jaeden,” he spat, “An emotional idiot,”

Kil’jaeden felt ready to blast him to the other end of the universe.

“You’re the idiot!” he yelled, too angry even to form a valid comeback. “My emotions have nothing to do with anything!”

“And yet you will sit in here fuming? Shedding tears because one who would have joined us did not? Why don’t you just get over it? And you are trying to justify to me that this behaviour is all due to our Lord not having three to command? That you sob and lament for this reason only, that it has nothing to do with you personally?”

Kil’jaeden glared at Archimonde.

“You could never begin to understand,” he seethed, “You were never a part of my life like he was, you were on the outside, failing to understand what it meant to have such companionship,”

Kil’jaeden realised he was all but raving. He was just tired of it. Tired of the chase, tired of the absence of Velen in his life. Even though he knew if he got the chance he was going to put an end to Velen’s life, if he could just see him smile, one more time...

Unable to stop himself, he placed his clawed hands over his face again, hoping desperately for Velen’s smiling face to vanish from his mind.

He didn’t want to see it. It was too painful. How he wished he could do as Archimonde said. The tears welled up in his eyes again. It was just all too painful.

He felt hands on his shoulders.

“Leave me be, Archimonde!” Kil’jaeden yelled, jerking his body away, “I warn you,”

He felt the hands enclose his wrists, and gently pull them down. The tears streamed down Kil’jaeden’s face. He looked at Archimonde again, dismayed and exasperated at his refusal to leave. Archimonde bore that same concerned expression. Mocking bastard. Kil’jaeden wished he’d disappear forever. That stupid look on his face...

Velen made the same face at him, all those years ago, when the three had discussed Sargeras’s great proposition. Velen’s eyes had become so wide, so scared. Even then, Kil’jaeden had lamented the unhappy look on Velen’s face. He had intended to discuss it with Velen privately at some other point, to show him he had no need to fear, that Kil’jaeden wouldn’t leave him or allow him to be hurt.

The same apprehensive expression was across Archimonde’s face. The expression marked the last time, he realised, that Velen was not interacting with him deceptively.

Velen alarmed Kil’jaeden with his concern, for he didn’t wish him to be under any mental burden that may be uncomfortable for him. He felt protective of Velen, and only wished to make him happy. He planned to do this by sharing with him the wonder of Sargeras’s gift, by being there with him forever.

Until it all went wrong, and Velen left. The sheer stupidity of him. The sheer lack of faith.

Kil’jaeden suddenly felt a clawed finger on his face, wiping away his tears.

“Archimonde,” he said as he was startled from his reverie, transfixed by Archimonde’s face. Archimonde stroked his flushed cheeks, brushing away his tears.

Kil’jaeden stared at him, trying to make sense of how he felt. He’d always been adamant that Archimonde was capable and obviously talented... but he was not someone Kil’jaeden saw as a true friend. An ally, yes. A comrade, yes. But a friend... that was what Velen was to him. Velen was the only friend he wanted.

But then... how could someone who bore the same soft expression as Velen not be worthy of this title?

He shook his head, responding to his own thoughts. Archimonde was right. He was an emotional fool.

Archimonde watched Kil’jaeden intently. He had dried the crimson skinned Eredar’s wet cheeks, but wondered if more were to fall.

“Kil’jaeden,” he said softly, “I didn’t mean what I said.”

Kil’jaeden frowned.

“Which part?”

“When I said you were an idiot... you are certainly not an idiot.”

Kil’jaeden sighed.

“Oh. Neither are you,”

Archimonde smiled at him.

“I’m glad you don’t think so,”

Kil’jaeden met his gaze. Perhaps Archimonde wasn’t all that different in terms of looks to Velen. Kil’jaeden felt his cheeks darkening slightly.

“But I do not desire to see you crumbling to pieces over Velen, someone who isn’t the most important thing for us at the moment,”

Kil’jaeden frowned again.

“You don’t understand,” he said, moving away from Archimonde’s grasp.

As he did Archimonde caught his wrist, moving closer to him once more. He kept his clawed hand around Kil’jaeden’s wrist, and Archimonde moved closer to Kil’jaeden til their faces were mere inches apart.

“Don’t tell me I don’t understand, because,” he began, looking directly into Kil’jaeden’s questioning gaze. “I could make you forget all about Velen.”

Very gently, Archimonde touched his lips to Kil’jaeden’s. For a moment, he was right. Velen’s face faded from Kil’jaeden’s mind. For one moment, Kil’jaeden did nothing. He allowed himself to be kissed. It had been so long since he’d felt another so close to him. The overwrought state of his emotions made it hard at that moment to push Archimonde away. His body was just so... similar. Velen smiled at him from his place in his memory. He remembered when it had happened. The only time... there should’ve been more times like this. How badly he’d wanted it. I’ll never hurt you... such lies. Kil’jaeden’s entire body stiffened. He jerked his wrist from Archimonde’s grasp. He pushed Archimonde away from him.

“Stop it,” he said softly.

“Why?” Archimonde said.

Kil’jaeden looked at him, frowning.

“What is wrong with you?” he said, barely keeping a tremble from his voice. He turned away from Archimonde.

“Kil’jaeden,” Archimonde said softly, “Please listen to me. You have to forget him. It’s pointless to think about him.”

“So you think you can cure me of him?” Kil’jaeden turned and glared at Archimonde, anger rising once more amongst the pain.

Archimonde looked solemn.

“If that’s what it will take,” he again moved to Kil’jaeden, and took his hands in his own. Kil’jaeden regarded him suspiciously. “Look... I know what it feels like.”

Kil’jaeden frowned at him.

“How could you?”

“Well, I just do. That’s why I’m offering,” He quickly raised Kil’jaeden’s hands in his own to chest level and leaned up against him. His armour clinked against Kil’jaeden’s as they stood with their hips touching.

“I’m offering you this,” he placed Kil’jaeden’s hand by his plated crotch, covering it with own.

Kil’jaeden baulked in shock, then pushed away at Archimonde.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” He yelled, too mortified to say anymore. Archimonde held his wrists strongly. His expression was solemn.

“I’m serious,” he frowned. “If your desire for Velen is such that you want him as a man, then you can get over it through me,”

Kil’jaeden stared at him.

“You’re mad! How could you even suggest such a thing!?” He pulled out of Archimonde’s grip at last. The crude bastard!

“Do you think you can make a fool out of me? Get out of here!”

He pointed angrily at the door.

“Get out!”

Instead of looking amused at having made Kil’jaeden humiliated, Archimonde looked hurt. The blue skinned Eredar stared at Kil’jaeden for a long moment.

“Fine.” He said finally. Then he left.

Kil’jaeden made sure he was gone, standing in silence for a long while, trying to make sense of what had happened and what had been said. Archimonde was just trying to make fun of him. He could never understand, and he could certainly never hope to replace Velen. Once more Kil’jaeden sank down to his knees. This time his flaming tears fell down his crimson cheeks in earnest, no longer feeling the need to conceal them. How he hated Archimonde. How he hated Velen! He hated him so, so much. He wiped some tears from his face, cursing himself for being so weak. He felt certain Velen would never cry over him. That thought made him feel even worse. Partly because that meant he was weaker than Velen, but also because he knew somehow, deep down, that Velen never loved him the way he did. In fact, he mused sometimes that he was probably relieved when Sargeras offered them allegiance with him, because it gave Velen an opportunity to flee him!

He ran his clawed fingers across the scars littering his body. He would not be weak. He was not as weak as Velen. Velen was too cowardly to take the power right in front of his face! Power that was his. Power for all of the Eredar. Instead he chose to whisk himself and his followers away. In turn, he would never have to be with Kil’jaeden...

He traced a talon over his crimson skin, fingering one particularly fresh scar. Velen probably never loved him at all. As he considered this, anguish washed over him afresh, but also anger. How dare he! If they ever met again, he would make Velen’s life a living hell. He’d regret sorely the day he ever made an enemy out of the Burning Legion, Kil’jaeden would make sure of it. Kil’jaeden sliced open the scar with his sharp talon. He hissed softly as blood of flames came out of the wound. Despite himself, Kil’jaeden smiled slightly, watching it.

Yes, indeed he would pay. He would make Velen pay for all he’d done.
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It's A Payment